Fallout
by syntax glory
Summary: Vegeta’s going mad, and it’s up to Bulma to save him. Will she swallow her pride to help out the arrogant prince, or will she let him fall through the cracks of sanity?
1. Turmoil

Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z is the creative genius of Akira Toriyama. 

Summary: Vegeta's going mad, and it's up to Bulma to save him.

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**FALLOUT  
—Chapter One: Turmoil—**

_By Ascendo Tuum_

Rolling thunderclouds surfaced in the distant horizon, the sun sinking down as a sign of defeat. The sky rumbled ominously, and Vegeta watched on silently as thunderbolts began to strike through the dense masses of angry gray, to touch down upon the ground. He had no fear of being hurt by some tiny bolt of lightning.

_Earth is a pathetic place. _

Loud noises rocked the world, but it seemed like Vegeta had tuned them out. He heard not a thing, except for the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and his own contradictory thoughts. His eyes snapped open, his mind refusing the soothing pangs of meditation

Just then, the porch door creaked open, and Vegeta sensed a familiar person walk timidly towards his sitting figure. He did not bother to turn around, already knowing it was Bulma, from her pitifully diminutive ki level. "What is it woman?" The words contained no trace of emotion, being only an automatic response

"Vegeta…" The blue-haired woman began, a still hand in the air as if about to rest on his shoulders in a consoling manner

He furrowed his brow in irritancy, but said no more. It did not do to repeat a qustion again because of pathetic human hearing.

Bulma sighed softly. The former Prince of Vegeta-sei was so cold; it was like touching ice. He held no warmth or compassion in his onyx-black eyes, only some sort of profound spite. She wondered if he had always been like this, so cynical and jaded. It struck her to think that he had never once had a happy moment to cherish

She could not help but wonder if he would ever stop acting so aloof and accept that he had acquaintances he could "trust." She knew trust, for Vegeta, was an entirely complicated manner and sometimes mused how the Saiyan could launch off into brief tirades on her stupidity. Now was not the time to mentally reprimand the hot-tempered prince

"Must I repeat myself again?" His voice was like a wind rustling through brittle leaves, and she winced from the frostiness in his tone. He held no consideration for anyone, and sometimes it hurt her to pieces to see him blatantly ignore her caring for him. Bulma did not understand why he overlooked her concern for him. Was it because he felt that it was weakness? Or, on the other hand, was it something else

"D-dinner's ready." She abruptly muttered to break the silence, all the while trying to clear the tangled mass of nerves, which garbled her words. "There's um, turkey and mashed potatoes.

Vegeta stood up, his back still to her. _This woman… she is odd. Unlike her silly friend, Kakkarot's little housewife with her frying pans. Or Krillin's precious love, 18, the damned android who supposedly switched sides and is nothing more than a bunch of metal screwed togethe.Bulma… she has a more forgiving and caring aura._ _Bah, what am I thinking? She is a bitch, a feisty little bitch.. _

The Saiyan Prince did not consider love anything. He did not feel that particular quality to be of any use. In fact, he found it completely idiotic for everyone around him to display affection to their mates

_What is with these foolish people and love?_ He wondered. Then he remembered Bulma was behind him, and immediately rid himself of his reflecting as he stormed inside without even a word of gratitude

Sadly, Bulma cast her aquamarine eyes into the sky and found inside of her a feeling she never thought possible. _Why Vegeta, why must you be so distant? Why can't you accept that I just want to be your friend?_ She closed her eyes abruptly, and the emotion of loving pity overwhelmed her. Since when had she begun to consider Vegeta more than a rude boarder at her home? Since when… since when had she thought of him as something more than a person to be tolerated

Bulma was amazed by her feelings. _Is it possible, that I am beginning to care for him? _

Silently, she stepped inside and closed the screen door behind her, only to see the Saiyan finish the last bite of his usually large dinner and leave. Her eyes met that of her mother's, and Bulma sat down at her place and began eating too.

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	2. Descent

Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z is the creative genius of Akira Toriyama. 

Summary: Vegeta's going mad, and it's up to Bulma to save him.

* * *

**FALLOUT  
—Chapter Two: Descent—**

_By Ascendo Tuum_

With a resounding sigh, he stood up, breathing slowly. He had finished his routine of doing six thousand push-ups, and was now in the process of wiping off the sweat that had collected on his forehead during the strenuous exercise. The air in the gravity room was stale, and Vegeta wrinkled his nose at the torpid odor.

Blinking, he went over to a step stool Bulma had left behind after a recent repair to the machine. He sat down, refusing to think of comfort, and surveyed the damage around him.

Broken tiles, pieces of plaster and the wall, and nuts and bolts were scattered about the room. He had attempted the elusive 890G, and had succeeded, with the minor casualties as mentioned above. He was closer now, closer to achieving 1000G. He felt a rush of pride go up throughout him and Vegeta's mind tingled with suppressed delight.

His mind finally slackened off a bit, and moved towards an old, haunting train of thought.

Here he was, a Saiyan Prince of a dead planet. And here was Kakkarot, a third-class Saiyan warrior who rejected his vicious birthright and heritage in favor of the peace-loving Earthling heritage.

All his life, Vegeta had trained for the faint prospect of killing the very being that had obliterated his planet, his people. Frieza. The name brought not fear to the souls of the dead, but only a bitter remembrance. The lizard-like demon was dead, but killed not with the thought of vengeance for the destroyed Vegeta-sei, but for Earth, for _peace_.

Angered, Vegeta brought his hand against the wall, and felt with satisfaction the reinforced plaster giving way into a gaping hole, in an effect alike to the silly cavern the humans idolized, the Grand Canyon. An admired rocky hole in the fabric of the planet. It was utterly idiotic, to ooh and awe over some chasm, when there were better things to do. Things like training and striving.

_It should have been me_, he thought caustically. I should have been the one who destroyed Frieza. Not some emotional Saiyan human who has renounced the very Saiyan blood in his veins! The savagery, the feeling of power, the warring force within… Given up, to live the pathetic life of an enhanced Earthling who happily defended his pitiable planet and friends.

What a waste of potential.

It was simply sickening, especially for a Saiyan, to desert the truest calling of his ancestry. To protect some pathetic planet in lieu of destroying all life for the next buyer over a silly bump on the head. To have feelings, a major hindrance in war, because of the incapability to understand of some human mate and half-breed child. For surface Earthling friends.

It took all the self-control Vegeta could muster to not transform into Super Saiyan and damn the planet to hell and over. Even then, he could not achieve that coveted goal. His only desire, his only reason for training.. to become a Super Saiyan and he was nowhere close to his objective. There had to be some sort of _key_, so that he could rework his training into a schedule that involved the key to transforming.

But as of now, he hadn't an idea. All he knew now was that the fool Kakkarot could transform and he couldn't. The irony!

Why!

The agonizing thought repeated itself excessively, like some melancholic sort of chant.

Why.

Why.

Why.

A strong burst of vibrant blue ki flared from his outstretched palm, and destroyed the machine he had dedicated practically forever to since his existence on Earth. An earsplitting explosion tore through the metal dome-shaped ceiling, and Vegeta watched coldly as pieces of wreckage fell about him, flaming and distorting as they writhed to a stop on the damp ground.

He leaned his head against the oddly cool wall, and wondered as to why he had to be so troubled, mocked. What had happened to all the regalia he had been accustomed to, as a young boy on his home planet? The worshipping, the idolizing? The murmurs and promises of a great destiny, committed to fighting. Ill had come of it, of all of it. He had nothing left, except his lingering memories.

There was nothing left he could attach the last fragments of his understated soft side to. Within a clench of his hands, he lost all remaining hopes of common sense.

_elsewhere..._

Hearing a loud detonation, Bulma darted off her seat in her lab and rushed towards the window. The sight below her dismayed her and worriedly, she ran out the house. _Vegeta_, she thought despondently, _please don't hurt yourself_.

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End file.
